The Girl in the Rain
by ThatKaylaPerson
Summary: She's known by a lot of names. The Tribute from District 12. The Girl on Fire. The Mockingjay. But I know her by a different name. /One-shot, written from Peeta's perspective of the night with the burnt bread.


**The Girl In The Rain**

**As usual, there it was. The yelling. It's a surprise not just to me, but to my brother Bosch and my father that it took this long to start up, but it still came as it always did when Rye was baking with our mother. Our father groaned, looking down and shaking his head as he picked up another mixing bowl from the floor that was full with water. He quickly poured it out into a rapidly filling pail, before setting the bowl back under the dripping ceiling.  
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"**Either of you want to take bets? Caught by the ovens eating or in the pantry eating," Dad said as he straightened up, stretching his back.**

"**Ovens, without a doubt. He only eats the warm stuff," Bosch said, pouring out a few smaller bowls and cups on the counters into a regular mixing bowl.**

**Dad turned towards me next, just standing there as we heard a pan clatter to the floor downstairs, Mom screeching like a hawk. "Peeta?" he asked, trying to make light.**

"**Pantry," I answered. "We got that cocoa powder the other day. Rye is after that. He probably brought water in there too, so he could drink it. Not to mention before dinner, I put a rack of bread in there to cool down. It'll probably be cool by now."**

**Almost on cue, Mom answered our betting pool. "How many times have I told you! Stay out that pantry, you greedy brat! It's not for you!"**

"**Good call, Peeta," Dad complimented me, before finally picking up the bucket of water he had collected. "Your prize is you get to empty the bucket." He dropped the handle into my hands and I struggled to readjust to the weight, but after dumping my own water bowl into the bucket, I managed to drag it towards the stairs. However, just as I reached the top of the steps, Dad stopped me again. "Hey, Peeta. Don't let your mom see you, but while you're down there, maybe grab one of the stale loafs of bread. I think we deserve a break. You get to pick what we have."**

"**Get something good," Bosch said over his shoulder.**

**Dad just waved Bosch off and gave me a warm smile, encouraging me to go. Carrying the large bucket of water, I walked down the stairs to the sound of my mother throwing a pan and finally hitting Rye. Instinctively, I cringe at the sound of a hit, but from its dull sound, I had the feeling she had hit him somewhere that wouldn't too hurt as bad. However, it seemed lately that it took less and less to make her really angry, enough to hit us and it didn't help that the leaky roof made her mood worse than it already was.**

"**Get out of my sight, you filthy thing! I don't want the customers seeing you with cocoa powder all over you face! Go upstairs and help your father with the roof! Maybe with all the water leaking in, you could actually get clean for once, Rye!" she snapped, sending my brother my way. **

**As I got to the bottom of the steps, he stepped through the door, closing it behind him. We both paused on the bottom landing as he glanced over at me. In the corners of his lips, he still had the evidence of getting into the powder on his face, but he wasn't quite the mess my mother claimed. He stood there, rubbing the back of his head, tears threatening to over spill in his eyes. He must have gotten the wooden spoon. That always brought tears to our eyes.**

"**What do you want, runt?" he asked.**

**I quickly shook my head at him. "Nothing." I paused for a second longer as he started up the steps. I turned back suddenly towards him, lowering my voice to a whisper. "Wait upstairs. Dad said I could get a loaf of bread, one of the stale ones, and the three of us were going to split it. I was going to get one of the cinnamon raisin loaves. But I'll give you some of my share if you wait."**

**Rye looked back at me, and sighed, still rubbing the back of his head a bit. It was a wonder he didn't have a welt growing under his blond hair from all the times he had gotten hit. He softened slightly and nodded his head at me. "All right. But hurry up. I'm still hungry," he whispered to me, before walking up the stairs. I just continued out the side door into the alleyway between our bakery and the shop next door.**

**The small awning over the door offered little protection from the rain, and I was quickly getting soaked. I turned the bucket over and let the water run down into the drain by the road, before I heard rustling behind the bakery. **_**It was probably just a dog or a cat**_**, I thought to myself, picking up the bucket again. **_**The butcher's dog is always getting into our trash.**_

**But I knew these thoughts are not true. I knew all too well who is back there. Someone from the Seam, someone looking for food that we just threw away. It was almost a nightly occurrence with someone digging through our trash. Dad would always take pity on them when he was baking, give them something, even if it wasn't very much and we couldn't afford to give it away, all when my mother wasn't looking of course. But my mother was working the counter, down in the bakery. There would be sympathy tonight.**

**I leaned forward to look down the alley way and saw a small, rain-soaked figure leaned over our bin, trying to reach the bottom. Judging from their size, they were probably in my class at my school, or perhaps younger. I might even have known them and the curiosity of wanting to know who it was drew me towards them, but before I could get a look at their face, I heard my mother shouting, and it spooked me enough to hurry back inside.**

**I closed the door behind me just as I heard my father start to speak, just on the other side of the door. "There is no need to shout about this, so just calm down. You can't keep doing this, hitting the boys. They may be tough, but they're our sons. They don't deserve to be treated like that," he said. I shook my head at them. They were going to fight again, I just knew it. I set the bucket down and leaned against the door to the bakery, trying to get a good listen.**

"**Did you even see what he did? He was in the pantry! You may not care, but I would like to have a little something to show for all the hard work I do around here, rather than letting all our supplies get eaten by our endless pit of a son!" she hissed back at him.**

"**Hush, will you? Do you want everyone to hear?" he snapped back at her as she started to raise her voice once more. I poked my head out the door as Dad dragged Mom around towards the back pantry. I waited until the door was closed until I moved out into the bakery, trying to ignore their fighting and yelling.**

"**You're too soft! That's what your problem is! Always soft! It's a wonder I even married an idiot like you!"**

**I crept over towards the baskets near the window, glancing back over my shoulder for a moment to make sure the door was still closed.**

"**Don't do that. Not now. You know that's a low, and especially with the children upstairs. What if they heard you? They don't need to hear that," Dad said, his voice much lower and harder.**

**Peeling the cloth back from the bin, I quickly dug for the bottom, grabbing a loaf of bread and pulling it out to check it over.**

"**Let them hear. Let them know just how despicable you really are. They should know the truth after all. Isn't that what you're always saying?" Mom snapped back.**

**I picked at the bread, picking off a small piece near the heel and tasting it. It definitely wasn't fresh, but not bad either. It would have to do. I stuffed the loaf of bread under my arm and glanced over at the pantry door again, checking to make sure that the coast was clear.**

"**Enough. Just stop it. All I'm asking is you leave the boys alone. Don't take your anger out on them, all right?"**

**I crept back inside the stairwell just as I heard the door opening to the pantry. I paused there for a moment, listening to them fight. Honestly, it was not that surprising to hear them like this. I had gone my whole life listening to it so, hearing them now, it had little to no effect on me.  
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"**You can't tell me what to do! Especially since I am the only one who makes sense around here," she snapped back, both of them walking across the bakery.**

**I heard their footsteps get closer to where I was, so I didn't wait much longer. In a flash, I hurried back up the stairs, bucket in tow behind me and bread under my arm. Rye was waiting on the other side of the door for me as I stepped inside. "Did you get it?"**

**I held out the bread and Rye quickly took it, bring it over to the table to size up the loaf and how it should be cut. Bosch walked over towards me, taking the bucket from my hand, and let out a long breath. "They're fighting again?"**

"**Yeah. I say just avoid mom for the rest of the night," I suggested to him.**

**Bosch shook his head and scuffed slightly, looking down at the ground. My oldest brother absolutely hated it when our parents fought. It was the one thing he tried his hardest to avoid. He even would go out of his way to make Mother angry just so she would yell at him and not our father. Below us, there was more mumbled voices, as they obviously were trying to keep their voices down now, but as Rye started to slice the bread and hand Bosch his section, Mother's voice rose up again.**

"**Peeta! Get down here! Now!"**

**Everything stopped. It almost seemed like the dripping roof had frozen for the moment, feeling the cold chill that went through the room. Both of my brothers turned towards me, looking at me with complete sympathy and fear. If it was about the bread, I would be dead. If it was about the roof, I would be hurt. If it was about Mother trying to prove her innocence, I would be lying. There was no good that ever came out of hearing your name called by our mother in the Mellark home.**

**I mustered up some courage from who knew where, and straightened up. "Hide that. Just in case," I told Rye, before giving a nod to them, and heading towards the stairs again, going down to face whatever was lying below.**

**Down in the bakery, I poked my head out of the door, seeing my father and mother back behind the counter again. Dad did not look happy at all, leaning against the counter and doing anything he could to avoid looking at his wife. Mom just stood there with her arms crossed over her chest, obviously still fuming. Her lips were pressed tightly together as she glared at the door, waiting for me. The moment she saw my face, she snapped her fingers and pointed to just beside her, ordering me non-verbally over to her side. As quickly as I could, I obeyed and hurried over behind the counter. The heavy glare followed me the whole way there, making it feel as if I was dragging weights behind me or carrying one of the heavy bags of flour across my shoulders again. It wasn't any better standing closer to her either, adding on another flour bag to my shoulders, making my knees shake slightly.**

**Her tone was very sharp, very cutting as she glared down at me. "Your father told me that you've been helping him out in the bakery. That you've been taking out the bread by yourself and doing some of the baking and mixing. Is that true?"**

**I glanced up at her quickly for a moment, before hanging my head again, nodding quickly.**

"**Good. Then since Bosch can't bake without burning and Rye can't help himself but eat everything, you're going to be down here." A thrill went through me. Sure, I had been working down in the bakery my whole life, sweeping up and organizing, my father even letting me bake some of my own creations and teaching me some recipes during the day, but being able to bake all the time, it was exactly what I wanted. Again, I nodded to her, straightening up a little.**

"**Do you know how to work the oven?" she asked.**

"**I told you he did. He's been helping me while you were out to the market. He knows the bakery as well as I do. If anyone can be trusted around the oven, it's Peeta," Dad said, coming to my defense.**

**My mother sighed, looking at me, before finally dropped her crossed arms to her side. "Fine. We'll give you a try for tonight. But so help me, if I see even one greedy little finger going into that pantry for yourself and not for what you're baking, you will be right back upstairs with your useless brothers. Do you understand me?" she barked.**

"**I understand. Baking only, no eating," I answered back.**

**My father waved off my mother, stepping around the counter. "He'll be fine. Just trust me. Now I'm going back upstairs before the roof collapses," he said, as he headed back upstairs, probably to let my brothers know what was going on. I was left to my mother's mercy.**

**Immediately, Mother stomped over to the oven, and like a soldier, I kept in toe with her. "Show me you can do something right. Start taking these trays out of the oven to cool. Make sure you watch the time and don't burn them," she snapped, before stepping back towards the pantry. I obeyed and set right to work, opening up the oven and the back door to let out some of the heat, pulled on some oven mitts, and started to take out the trays from the bottom of the oven and working my way up. I repeated this, putting out the trays to cool until I heard my mother's footsteps towards the back door and her sharp yell. "HEY! Move on! Get out of here!"**

**The person in the trash. I had almost forgotten, and quickly, I put down another tray and hurried back towards the door, by my mother's side. I had meant originally to pull her away, convince her come back and show me something, make it up as I went, but for a moment, my eyes ended up straying out towards the person outside. "Do you want me to call the Peacekeepers? I'm sure they'd show you to some nice trash," my mother screamed, heavy on the sarcasm.**

**I only just got a glimpse of her when I realized who it was. Katniss Everdeen. She was in my class. The one that my father had pointed out to me when he walked me to classes in the morning, the girl I had watched several times, so interested in her. She was the one that was digging through our trash, rain soaked and looking miserable.**

"**I'm so sick of you stupid little Seam brats going through my bins every night! Now get!" Katniss, either out of fear or shame, replaced the lids to the trash bins, backing away. Just as she did, our eyes connected for a moment, as I read something just a little deeper. What it was, I wasn't entirely sure, but I knew in that moment that I could not possibly just leave her out there by herself with nothing. She had been in the bins for a reason.**

**I watched her as she walked away, around the pig pen and out to the old apple tree in the back. I only could see her figure then as she leaned against the tree and slowly collapsed on herself, sinking down to the ground. The moment she sank out of sight, I started to form a plan in my head.**

**I turned away from the door and went back over towards the oven, peeking inside. Just at the top, there were two racks left, both just finishing up baking and turning golden on the bottom. I glanced back over at my mother, as she bent over the register, counting it up. There was no way I could just sneak out without her seeing or known with the bread was missing. It seemed there was only one way to go about it.**

**Reaching up, I grabbed the tray and started to slide it out. Holding the tray at just the right tilt, I finally let myself feel 'the heat' of the tray and yanked my hands away. The whole thing, tray and bread fell down into the fire underneath. I, of course clamored forward, reaching into the fire to pull out the tray and now half scorched bread, as Mother howled, and hurried over towards me. I dropped the tray, bread, and my newly burnt gloves to the floor as she stomped over to me with the wooden spoon in hand this time, looking down at the ruined stock that our family so desperately relied upon.**

"**You stupid cretin! Look at what you done!" she screamed, pointing with the spoon at the loaves.**

"**It was hot! I almost burned myself!" I answered back. I held my hands close to my chest, still feeling touched by the 'burns.'**

"**I don't care!" she howled. Before I could react though, the wooden spoon fell back, then forward, hitting me squarely across my face.**

**Shock. That was the first thing I felt. I had never been hit like that before. Sure, I had had my fair share of strikes, but that…I had never been hit so hard or felt so much anger and hatred behind a blow. Once the shock wore off though, I felt the sting. She had hit me hard enough to make me stumble slightly, her momentum carrying over to me. My whole cheek felt as if it was on fire and tears started to fill up my eyes, though I never let a single one spill over. **

**I looked back over at her while touching my cheek, expecting something, some kind of remorse or even a little less anger, but nothing had changed. She was just as angry as she had been before. She even crossed her arms in a huff, just glaring down at me. Her rage seemed to flare back up again when I dared to look up at her. In a fit, she reached down and picked up the two half burnt loaves of bread and trust them into my arms. They were still so hot, but this time I didn't mind the burns. It took away from the pain on my cheek. She then turned me around and pushed me towards the open door with a little more force than necessary.**

**I suppose I was in too much shock to actually do much of anything else, so instead of turning and fighting more, I just followed her motions, trudging outside. The rain had lessened to something like a mist. I was quickly swallowing my tears up as sloshed through the muddy puddles. **

**Behind me, my mother yelled out, not quite finished with me yet. "Feed it to the pig, you stupid creature! Why not? No one decent will buy burned bread!" Her words only stung more, adding to what the spoon had done. I just hung my head, holding onto the two loaves of bread as I walked out over to the pig pen. Inside the bakery, the bell rang, signaling customers and drawing my mother away from the doorway.**

**But through the tears even as I stood by the pig pen, starting to pick slightly at the burned edges of the bread, I could see from the corner of my eyes that she was still there by the tree. Katniss Everdeen had stayed there, and she was watching me now, my every move almost. Her eyes seemed to dig into me, reading me from top to bottom. I couldn't bring myself to look over at her, let her see just how hurt I really was. Not to mention, there was a fear in the back of my head that if I let her look into my eyes, she might see even deeper, right through me to my core.  
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**There was a long moment when I felt her eyes linger on the welt that was starting to develop on my cheek. What this girl in the rain must thought of it, I had no idea. **

**I stopped for a moment and finally turned back to look at the bakery door. It stood empty, my mother drawn away completely by the prospect of selling something and putting money in the register. She would be too distracted, and that was good. It was exactly what I needed. I turned quickly and looked back at the pig. **

**The final step of my quick, little plan had come. Give her the bread. However, panic set in when I realized I'd have to face her. Instead, rather than talking to her or even saying one word, I threw the two loaves towards her feet, the only dry area under the tree, and hurried back towards the bakery. Once I was inside, I shut the door quickly and locked it up.**

**For a long moment, I stood there, surprised by what I had done. I could hear my mother's voice in the front, chatting with a woman from just down the street. If my mother knew what I just done, I would have had another bruise on the other cheek, probably worse than first one. **

**But the more I thought about it, the more I didn't care. I had done it for a reason. I had given her two loaves of bread, tried to help her out. I stood there for a moment longer, before turning and unlocking the door again. As silently as possible, I pulled it open, peeking back out towards the tree. The bread and the girl had both gone, disappearing into the night. **

**Relieved, I sighed and closed the door again. The mark on my cheek, the burned bread, the trouble I was in with my mother, it had all been more than worth it. Later on of course, our paths crossed again and she gained a whole lot more names. Katniss Everdeen. Tribute from District 12. The Girl Who Was On Fire. Victor of the 74****th**** Hunger Games. The Mockingjay. The Symbol of Rebellion.**

**But no matter what, every time I looked at her, I just saw the girl in the rain. The one that looked through me, the one that I had to help, not out of pity, but out of love. To me, that is what she'll always be. The Girl in the Rain.**


End file.
